


favors

by congratsyouvegrownasoul



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: (implied I guess?), Autistic Jillian Holtzmann, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash February 2017, Flirty Banter and Disguises, Fluff and Smut, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9725414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congratsyouvegrownasoul/pseuds/congratsyouvegrownasoul
Summary: "Besides, if I’m a spy you can be my femme fatale.”Abby and Holtzmann celebrate Valentine's Day





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the42towels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the42towels/gifts).



The little bed-and-breakfast in Westchester County looks exactly like the sort of place that would be haunted, with tangles of English ivy meandering all over its moldering brick front. Out front, there’s a birdbath with a creepy baby angel perched on top.

  
“Abby, look at this guy,” Holtzmann hisses excitedly. “It’s a demon cherub.”

  
Abby looks down at it through her glasses, which are sliding down the tip of her nose.

  
“Oh, nice. That’s a good sign. I’m getting definite ghost-y vibes off of this place.”

  
In the six months since Holtzmann first teamed up with visionary paranormal expert Abby Yates, they have yet to come across an actual ghost. But they’ve picked up a lot of vibes.

  
Abby’s scoured the internet for rumors of the supernatural associated with this particular bed-and-breakfast. It’s relatively promising—a couple Yelp reviews describing strange noises keeping guests up at night, and someone was murdered in the house in 1952, back when it was a single-family home. So maybe this is the big one, the one they’ve both been waiting for.

  
Because Abby and Holtzmann have gotten some bad reactions to ghost-hunting in commercial establishments before, they’re in disguise. Holtzmann is wearing her hair down for once, and a pair of large sunglasses, even though it’s a cloudy February day. Abby has on fire-engine-red lipstick and a wig filched from the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute’s theater department, which is even more poorly funded than its Paranormal Studies department.

  
They’re pretending to be a couple on a romantic Valentine’s Day retreat, which is mostly true, except that their duffel bags are filled with some of Holtzmann’s most portable specially designed paranormal equipment. Dragging those heavy bags all the way up to Westchester on the public bus was quite a workout, but Holtzmann can’t wait to put all her theoretical experiments into practice on a real ghost.

  
Their disguise seems to work well on the desk clerk, who barely gives them a second glance, too busy doing her crossword puzzle. Not very good practice, considering this establishment might be haunted by the ghost of a murder victim. They even give fake names—Abby’s gotten quite into their charade.

  
“Oh, this is so exciting,” Abby gushes as they haul their bags up the stairs. “I feel like a spy.”

  
“Weren’t ghosts enough for you?” Holtzmann teases.

  
“Come on, Holtz, you know you love it. Besides, if I’m a spy you can be my femme fatale.”

  
“Wouldn’t that be you? I’m like…soft butch.”

  
Abby grins. “If I have to be the femme fatale, then you can’t kiss all this lipstick off. I have to maintain my feminine mystique.”

  
“Don’t worry, I’ll come and help you get it off. Mystique be damned.”

  
Abby unlocks the door to their room just in time, because Holtzmann practically topples her over backwards through the doorway.

  
They hastily put their bags down in the entranceway, and then make their way to the bed, giggling and breathless in between kisses. Holtzmann clutches at Abby’s wig, tearing it off her head to release her hair. Holtzmann loves to play with Abby’s hair, to feel the sensation of it threading between her fingers. The wig catches on a strand and gives it an unintended yank. Abby winces, but then smiles.

  
“Do that again.”

  
“What, pull your hair?”

  
Abby nods.

  
Holtzmann weaves her hand into Abby’s hair, and then gives it a gentle tug for starters. Abby smiles encouragingly, and then kisses her. Holtzmann pulls again, harder, and is rewarded with a little moan of pain and pleasure.

  
Abby’s moans grow louder as Holtzmann releases her hair and begins to trail kisses down her neck, grazing her collarbones and nipping at the collar of her shirt. Abby hastily yanks her shirt over her head, revealing her cleavage and stomach. Holtzmann pushes her onto her back, falling down on top of her on the bed to kiss both of her breasts, then her belly, moving down past her navel to the waistband of her jeans.

  
Holtzmann unbuttons them deftly with her teeth and tongue, winking flirtatiously at Abby. Her lover gives a little gasp of delight, then hurries to get her pants the rest of the way off. Holtzmann slides Abby’s panties down as well, leaving them bunched up at her knees. Abby tilts her hips up towards Holtzmann.

  
“Come on, Holtz, eat me out already,” she says, voice throaty with need.

  
Holtzmann grins at her, and then gets down to business.

  
A probing finger determines that Abby is already wet, and more than ready. Holtzmann kisses Abby on the edge of her lower lips, then slips her tongue inside. She moves slowly and methodically, spiraling her mouth in concentric circles around Abby’s clitoris. Her senses are almost painfully attuned to Abby’s every quiver, every little moan, every entreaty for more, more, more—please.

  
Her own sense of arousal builds along with Abby’s, but stops short of orgasm, while Abby comes, gasping and ecstatic. Holtzmann surfaces, kneeling on the bed next to Abby, watching her chest heaving as she catches her breath. Her cheeks are flushed and rosy, lipstick smeared around her mouth like a bruise.

  
After a moment, Abby smiles at her beatifically.

  
“Do you want me to return the favor?”

  
Holtzmann nods enthusiastically, and begins to pull off her own jeans and panties.

  
Abby is a less experienced practitioner of Sapphic love than Holtzmann herself, and her technique is more rushed, but her affection for Holtzmann is palpable. Every movement of her mouth is incredibly tender, and she frequently stops to look up at Holtzmann and make sure she’s enjoying herself.

  
Holtzmann, for her own part, is less vocal in bed than Abby. She often becomes so overwhelmed that it’s impossible for her to speak. Her body has always been very sensitive to sensory input, and sex is a magnificent onslaught of feelings and emotions. Abby understands her methods of communication, correctly interpreting her happy little whimpers, and the rather unambiguous way she pats Abby’s head, pushing her back down for more, more, more.

  
After they’re finished, Abby cuddles up next to Holtzmann, one arm slung across her, half on top of her. Her body is soft and warm against Holtzmann’s, her hair faintly damp with sweat. Holtzmann glories in the sensation of Abby, the gentle weight and pressure of her body pushing down on Holtzmann’s. Basking in the afterglow, everything seems golden and faintly fuzzy.

  
Holtzmann would be content to lay like this forever, but Abby soon stirs, lifting her head.

  
“It says online they have claw-foot tubs in the bathrooms,” she says, her voice coy, hinting at some ulterior meaning that Holtzmann can’t divine.

  
“Hmmm?”

  
“They’re big enough for two,” Abby says, kissing Holtzmann’s forehead.

  
As nice as their cuddles are, Holtzmann doesn’t need to be asked twice.


End file.
